A Stark of Red and Gold
by Longing.For.The.Stars
Summary: How is a Futurist supposed to get ahead in a world that sees innovations and oddities as witchcraft?


A richly robed man ran through Casterly Rock. Kevan Lannister was usually a calm and composed man, so it was understandable why the sight made several sets of Lannister guards stop and stare. The man however, paid them no mind.

"Lancel," he called out in a voice that was loud, yet hushed. As he passed dozens of open doors, the second son of Tytos Lannister gave a token glance inside each. In his heart of hearts, though, he knew where his son was.

His feet led him through cavernous chambers and down twisting passageways, all the way to the bottom of Casterly Rock, into an area that housed the forges. Metal pounded heated metal in a melody that grated his ears. In little niches along the cluttered pathways, the lower blacksmiths—those neither skilled nor senior enough to warrant a private space of their own—toiled. The sounds petered off as the blacksmiths noticed the nobility among them, but the Lannister took no notice. His eyes were on the heavy double doors before him.

He burst into the sweltering room where the most renown of Casterly Rock's metalworkers labored over their crafts. "Lancel! Where have—" His green eyes darted around the room, finally seeing that he was at the center of attention. Kevan slowly looked around. Work had stopped, some blacksmiths frozen mid-swing, even. Then, all eyes slowly turned towards the far corner of the room, where a small, blond haired boy held onto a spare hammer with both hands, swinging it at a lump of red-hot metal.

Kevan shook his head and grabbed his son roughly by the shoulders, dragging the four-year-old out of the blistering room as apprentices hastily cleared the way of dropped tools and scraps of half-melted metal scraps. "Father, no!" Lancel protested, attempting to grab the heated ore. Alarmed at his son's lack of self-preservation, Kevan drew him away, dropping the hammer carelessly on the floor.

He was half of the mind to punish the blacksmiths for daring to let the son of a noble touch their tools. He wasn't Tywin, though. Kevan was just clear-headed enough through his fear to realize that the blacksmiths had most likely been terrified of what would happen if they denied a lordling what he wanted. That was the only thing preventing him from taking his anger out on the tradesmen.

"You will act like the noble you are, or I will punish them for your disobedience," the older Lannister muttered tightly. In all honesty, he would not, but it would serve its purpose in ensuring his son's obedience. Lancel had a soft heart, and he would never allow others to suffer for his mistakes. Though his eyes were on his son, Kevan would have had to be blind to not see the way the blacksmiths stiffened, having heard his cold words. It did not matter to Kevan himself, but he knew his older brother would be pleased, had he known—Tywin was rather obsessed with their family image. As Kevan predicted, Lancel stilled and hung his head at his words, quietly following him towards the exit.

Once they were in the privacy of their quarters, Kevan shook the younger Lannister. "What were you thinking? Lannisters do_ not _mingle with the common folk."

"But it's all wrong! They were doing it wrong!" Lancel protested, drawing himself up in the manner all children did when they wanted to be taken seriously. "I could do it _better_."

Kevan looked in his son's eyes. Millions of thoughts teemed in that emerald gaze, begging him to understand. Kevan shook his head and closed his eyes, sure that he would go mad if he looked for a moment longer.

Lancel tried again. "Father, please! I know how to do it better. I can make the steel stronger, refine it better! I saw it!"

A worried look on his face, Kevan pressed his hand on Lancel's forehead. To his horror, it was as hot as the forge they had abandoned. Filled with fatherly fear, Kevan drew his son to him, clutching him tight in a hug. "Shhh," he said, shushing the young boy's ramblings. "You're burning up," he murmured anxiously. He led his son towards his room.

Lancel shook his head, eyes fever-bright. "But… I _saw _it," his son insisted. "There was… there were metal carriages that traveled without horses, and flying boats. A-and _electricity_," he muttered, eyes fluttering closed. His legs gave out, just inches from his bed. Kevan caught his son and placed him carefully on the bed.

Kevan Lannister rushed to the door and opened it. "Send for a maester!" he roared at the guards at the door. They jerked ramrod-straight, sharing a glance. Then, the one on the right raced down the hall. "You. Cold water."

He was much more curt with the guards than he was usually, but it did its job. The remaining guard left immediately. It left the room unguarded, but Kevan was more worried about his heir than any potential assassin. Kevan was a second son, and his son was the son of a second son. There was no reason they would be targeted. Even if they were, while he was not his kingsguard nephew, Kevan was quite a swordsman himself.

The maester seemed to take forever to arrive, though Kevan knew that it must not have been over ten minutes, the bowl cold water arriving not longer after that.

As the maester continued to examine his son, Kevan dipped a cloth into the water and wrung it out. He placed the cool, damp cloth onto Lancel's forehead, upon which his son briefly stirred.

"Starks… Stark men are made of iron," Lancel muttered. "'M Tony Stark…"

The maester stared in bafflement.

Kevan turned dangerous eyes on the man, daring him.

"Fever madness," the maester said nervously. "Nothing but half-conscious ramblings. Lord Lannister doesn't have to know."

"Of course," Kevan said icily. As he grasped his son's hand, none of his thoughts showed on his face. However, his mind was in turmoil. "Tony' sounded like a name, but if it was, it was the queerest name he had come across. And why the Starks? Were they the ones to do this to his son? In fact, he was sure that they despised Lannisters after what his brother ordered and his nephew did at the end of the rebellion. The more he thought about it, the likelier it seemed to him. It must have been a poison of some sort, slow-acting. Possibly imported from the east. Trade was little in the North, yet it _did_ exist...

Kevan turned towards the entrance as someone fluttered in. Dorna approached, wide-eyed and fearful. "My son! Lancel! Husband, is my son..."

"Just a mild fever," Kevan assured her. He glanced at her pregnant stomach in concern. Stress was not good for the baby. "Go lie down, dear," he urged her.

Dorna's cornflower blue eyes widened and she dipped her head. "Of course, my lord," she murmured meekly. Kevan moved to escort her to her rooms, but the little fingers in his hands tightened as he started to slip away. Kevan paused, then sat down once more. His wife would be fine.

The day passed slowly as Kevan fretted in the privacy of his son's quarters. The maester determined that it was a mere fever, but Lancel simply did not get sick. He had always been a healthy child. Kevan did not look up as the door opened, sure that it was the maid once more.

"Brother."

Kevan jerked, then scrambled to stand. "Tywin." Remembering that he promised his assistance to his brother on the Reach agreements, Kevan immediately set out to apologize. "Tywin! My apologies. I… I forgot. It will not happen again." Kevan dipped his head slightly, fixing his gaze on the gold embroidery on his brother's chest when he found himself unable to meet Tywin's eyes.

Kevan straightened as Tywin scanned his features. The elder Lannister's eyes eventually fell onto where Kevan clutched Lancel's hand. "It is night, and I have use for you tomorrow. Send for a servant to sit by his side," the elder Lannister ordered.

"Broth—" Kevan set out to protest, only to remember his station. "Yes, my lord." In his heart, however, resentment grew. Still, his mind did not bear traitorous thoughts, for Kevan was loyal. He would sooner bring his sword to his own neck than raise a hand against his kin, yet it was true that he felt bitter over their circumstances. He had spent decades in the service of his brother, not asking for anything in return. He stood at his brother's side, when their other brothers turned on him in jealousy. He felt like he deserved just one day—

Like an errant lion cub, his thoughts scrambled to a halt as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Kevan looked up to see his brother's face, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Your son is a Lannister. He will survive."

The younger Lannister's first instinct was to snarl at the Lord of Casterly Rock. Tywin didn't know that. Only the Seven did. Even the strong could be killed by the most innocuous means.

Then, Kevan looked at Tywin's face again. After Joanna's death, Tywin had become stone. He did not care for his children, despising his youngest child, even. That he was here, trying to comfort Kevan, that he bothered to keep track of the wellbeing of his brother's son… it should mean a lot. No. It _did _mean a lot.

"Thank you, brother," Kevan said. He hesitated, not knowing how his next words would be taken. He did not want to take advantage of his brother's goodwill, but… "I would prefer to spend the night by my heir's bedside. By your leave?"

He asked it in a question, allowing his brother to make the decision. By deferring to him, Kevan was hoping that Tywin would soften and allow him to stay. Despite what others claimed, Tywin was not a monster. Inside, there was a heart. It was hardened and cold, but it was still there.

Tywin watched him with hard eyes, then turned away. Kevan's heart sank and he lowered his head. He should have known better.

"I expect you when we break fast."

Kevan's head snapped up. He could barely believe what Tywin had said. "Brother… Thank you." The gratitude in his voice was real. He had the urge to hug his brother, something that they had not done since they were mere boys. Kevan let go of Lancel's hand and took a hesitant step towards his older brother.

Tywin paused, but did not turn around. Then, he was gone.

Outside, a storm raged, lightning flashing through the skies. Inside, Kevan Lannister hovered helplessly over his son as the boy mumbled of people that did not exist and things that could not happen.

* * *

Welcome, and buckle down for a looong wait, longer than the Long Night itself! No, really. The updates are going to be few and far in between, 'cause I have this other story (well, other stories) I'm working on.

So, what'cha think of this chapter? Pretty good for someone who hasn't watched a single episode of Game of Thrones, huh? I just got caught up in the hype, 'cause everyone was talking about it and acting all crazy. Everywhere on the internet, theories and stuff pop up. Can't escape it. So... It all built up in my mind and exploded out onto this page.

Visit me on Discord, yo! (delete the space)

discord. gg/XDyEJep


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